


True Love

by DJL



Category: Family Fluff - Fandom, Future Fic - Fandom, Post Season/ Series 06, Rumbelle Summer Vacation - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJL/pseuds/DJL
Summary: Belle, Rumplestiltskin and Gideon are enjoying their "happy beginning."A brief interlude at the Phoenician Lobby Tea Room shows how someone from the land without magic might react to witnessing True Love.





	True Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. The characters of Belle Gold, Rumplestiltskin, Gideon in this incarnation, etc. are the sole invention and property of Disney and show creators Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis. Just playing in the sandbox.

The server stifled a yawn and surreptitiously shifted her feet.

Her heels weren’t high, not really—nothing compared to some of the shoes worn by the typical female patrons of the Lobby Tea Room at the Phoenician hotel—but at the end of the day, heels were heels, and working as a server in the tea room for the last seven days straight during the high season of hotel booking equated to feet that were _beyond_ sore.

Her feet weren’t the only things that ached, come to that. Her eyes were beginning to get that unpleasant, scratchy feeling that too few hours closed in restful slumber brought, and no amount of Visine eye drops would help her now. It was her own fault, of course—she’d been awake deep into the night glued to her tablet, having a marvelous time devouring the latest Fae Mallory book. The server didn’t regret it, no time spent reading Fae Mallory could ever be regretted; but all pleasures came with a price, and she was certainly paying today.

Luckily seating was light this afternoon, only three tables reserved for the final tea service of the day, and the server thanked whatever good fairy had arranged this small miracle. The piano player’s efforts could be heard throughout the room, his signature standards repertoire, the tunes hovering on the edge of acoustic consciousness, never too loud to impede conversation. The small number of occupied tables meant the sole server on duty today had a delicious few moments to let the wall take some of the weight off her aching feet while she quietly observed the last of the day’s customers.

She shifted her weight again slowly, letting her eyes scan the room as she did so, alert for any sign that sandwiches or scones needed replenishing, or teapots needed re-heating. Seeing that none of the tables required her immediate attention, the server settled in for a bit of subtle people-watching. It was a favorite pastime, and happily, a requirement for the job. 

The two blond women nearest the huge bay window, table 2, were classic Scottsdale wives, tanned and botoxed to within an inch of their lives, nibbling sandwiches while their male counterparts took advantage of the world class golf amenities. 

The three ladies at table 4 were regulars, always coming on each other’s birthdays and at holiday time. 

It was the couple nearest the server, at table 8, who occupied the majority of her attention. They were almost wholly unfamiliar to her--almost, as she had passed them while walking in to work that very morning. 

The older man and younger woman, both petite in stature and very well groomed, had been strolling the immaculate grounds of the luxury hotel, chatting, a baby buggy with a pretty, curly haired specimen being pushed between them. The server had heard a few phrases of their conversation as she passed, the woman saying she hadn’t expected the desert to be so green, the man replying something about golf not being particularly popular in Agrabah (though the man’s accent made it probable the server had misheard this rejoinder).

Their age difference was perhaps the most striking thing about the attractive couple--the man was likely twice his partner’s age. But this was by no means the only noticeable attribute of the duo. The woman’s blue eyes were of a shade and brilliance that defied description, while the cost of the man’s suit likely would easily take up the server’s wages of an entire month. The man and woman both had accents, not unusual in guests at the Phoenician, but it did lead the server to wonder idly how an older, admittedly dapper Scotsman had managed to meet and win the lovely, much younger lass from down under. 

It was also not unusual for patrons of the tea room to bring children, including babes in arms. What was rather unusual, at least in the server’s experience, was for the baby to be quite so well behaved. The little one sat in his adjustable stroller seat, eyes wide and observant, calmly and contentedly eating the tidbits his parents periodically placed on his tray. 

The server, having assured herself again that the other two parties did not need her immediate assistance, continued to observe the trio nearest her, drawn rather strongly by the pleasing tableau of mother, father and child. The man and woman appeared to be enjoying the tea experience, the woman at one point lifting her teacup and running a dainty finger around the rim, exchanging a glance with the man that seemed to speak volumes. Occasionally, one or both would glance at their baby, their looks lingering on the child, almost with a sense of disbelief at their good fortune. 

The server noticed it all, and was intrigued. She had had a multitude of opportunities to observe romantic and familial interactions in her six years working in her current position, but she couldn’t recall another pair that had appeared so—natural together? Perfectly suited? Completely attuned? She wasn’t sure how to describe what she felt she was witnessing in the couple; all she could say for certain was that it was unique, and the effect was positively _enchanting_.

It is likely she would have missed what happened next, had she not been so intrigued by the little family. The baby, losing interest in the available offerings on his tray, apparently decided it would be great fun to see how far each piece could be thrown. His mother, in the middle of lifting the tea pot in the center of the table to refill her own cup, attempted to simultaneously set the pot back on the table burner and grab both small paws of her wayward offspring, but in looking at the child, her sense of place for the burner was thrown off, and an accident became inevitable.

The server began to lunge toward the table, knowing as she did so that she would be too late to save the tea pot from falling, when the anticipated crisis ended before it had even begun. 

But, _what_ had she just seen--?

The server blinked her bleary, blood shot eyes in disbelief. 

In that moment, when the woman had been hurriedly placing the teapot down, not watching her placement, the server would have been willing to swear that the pot should have spilled. The small disaster had been averted by the man, who had reached out his arm, waved it slightly, and somehow _righted_ the teapot _without touching it at all_.

The server shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again. The scene was the same as before, mother and father quietly and capably assuring their child, “Gideon,” as he was being addressed by his father, that in fact the floor was not meant to be used as a receptacle for unwanted items. The tea pot stood safely on the burner once more. The couple looked as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred at all.

Strains of “Happy birthday” began to sound from the piano, the server’s cue to bring the complementary birthday chocolate ganache tartlet to the trio of ladies at table 4. She shook her head again, reminding herself sternly that _this_ was _exactly_ why staying up all night reading was a bad idea when one had to work the next day. The sleep-deprived brain was prone to imagining all sorts of impossible things.

Her brief respite over, the server was occupied for some time with the other tea room guests. The ladies of table 4 were sung to and conversed with, while table 2 was collected by the men of their party, flushed with the success of having conquered the Phoenician’s world class course. At last, only the intriguing trio at table 8 remained in the tea room, and one of the party was certainly making his displeasure known. 

The little curly haired baby’s face was scrunched up in displeasure, his tiny mouth trembling, his little chest beginning to heave. An eruption was clearly forthcoming. The server stepped forward with the check, just as the Scotsman popped a pacifier into the child’s puckered mouth. One suck, two, and crisis averted. 

The man smiled at his wife, remarking to her in the server’s hearing, “So, that’s me proved wrong. Who would have guessed that pacifiers, not condiments, were this world’s most powerful magic?”

“Indeed, Rumple,” the woman answered smilingly, as the man (and just what sort of name was Rumple?) handed the server a credit card with a nod.

She went to run the card, pausing to glance at the name. _R. Gold._ Ordinary enough name. Ordinary enough couple, really, she insisted to herself. And yet that feeling remained, the feeling that in the presence of _this_ couple, somehow the server was witness to something singular, _extraordinary,_ even.

She turned to head back to table 8 to collect a signature and give the formal “thank-you-for-joining-us-for-tea-at-the-Phoenician” farewell, when she stopped abruptly, the feeling of witnessing something precious stronger than ever. 

The man and woman were sharing a kiss, chaste and sweet, hands joined in front of their now-peaceful baby. The scene was surely— _surely!_ \--commonplace, and yet the server felt almost rooted to the spot, a distant part of her mind embarrassed for being so riveted, yet entirely unable to turn away from the pair before her.

It was at that moment that the baby, not finding his parents’ expression of affection nearly so moving as the server did, spat out his pacifier with some force and started to wail.

The couple broke apart abruptly, both looking to their child, the woman with a small giggle, the man with a patient, resigned smile. The smiles remained while the man—Mr. Gold—signed the receipt with a flourish, and the woman—Mrs. Gold—gathered up the unhappy infant, and the three of them exited the tea room, the server continuing to watch until the doors closed behind them, barring the family from her view.

0 0 0

It was some hours later, as the server was driving home, when two words occurred to her, words that connected immediately and forcefully in her mind with that lingering image of the kissing couple from table 8. Two words that, she felt, somehow explained just what had caused her to feel that there was something rare and exceptional in the couple’s interactions:

_True love._


End file.
